“He had fallen out of a tree and Paul Lumbleigh, riding back down from Arthur’s Seat where he had been upgrading his shooting skills on rabbits and other small game, entered the gardens by the back gate and found a boy sitting on the grass at the base of a tall tree, and nursing a bleeding knee.The sight of fresh blood and possible injury halted him, as became one on the threshold of a medical profession.‘That looks nasty. Is it sore?’Vince bit his lip, trying not to cry, as the young man put as...ide his rifle and game bag. Kneeling down beside him, he asked: ‘Climbing, were you, and fell down the tree, did you? Know you’re trespassing?’‘Of course I’m not. I live here,’ was the indignant reply and as Vince pointed to the cottage, Paul looked round, nodded and said: ‘Right. Come along and I’ll bandage that knee.’ Leading his horse he walked slowly, with Vince limping alongside. Tying the horse to the garden fence he pushed open the cottage door. Vince’s eyes widened in surprise.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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